While it Heals
by Lhye
Summary: After the explosion and raid of the Mafia hideout, Mello flees back to what may be called home to Matt with serious injuries. While he recovers, he is in the care of his best friend as he plots his next move. Non-yaoi, friendship only.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I somewhat got the idea for this story after seeing a bunch of fan art that featured Mello with an eyepatch. Matt appears notoriously briefly, so I'm using what's seen of him to construct his personality.

WARNING: Use of their real names, from Volume 9 of the manga onward.

**Full Summary:** After the explosion at the Mafia hideout, Mello flees back to what he may call home to Matt, with serious injuries. It will take time to heal and recover. Until his next plan, until he is ready to make his next move, he'll have to wait while in the care of his best friend.

This is probably going to be a relatively short story, maybe only 2 or 3 chapters, but let's see where it goes..

Oh, and that warning is there because I'm sick of people casually using the real names of those with aliases, because I'm sure not everyone finished the series, or got volume 13 "How to Read", and don't want the spoiler.

--

**Chapter 1**

Night had already passed, it was long into the hours of the early morning. Most of the surrounding world around was still quiet. The sky was dark and silent with sleep, not even a moon pierced this pure solitude. Stars refused to show themselves tonight.

In a run-down housing building, one of the apartments still glowed with activity. The sizeable living room, the first thing stepped into upon entering, was lit mainly by a dim lamp hanging from the ceiling, a humble mockery of a chandelier; 6 small bulbs cast a translucent yellow-white shadow over the room.

Walls, the color of red sand, slid over three of the sides of the room. A couch, a deep navy, sat alongside the same wall where the front door faced about 5 feet away; opposite, an off-white ran along the wall and penetrated the ones unseen, continuing to the other rooms.

In the large, plush couch, a young man sat with his games. Appreciating the sanctity of the very comfortable couch, he had long unwound from the activities of the day. He was enjoying the self that enjoyed privacy at home, and was now more concerned with being comfortable. Goggles pulled down around his neck, thick vest lined and patterned with streams of fur discarded lazily over one arm of the couch. High, black leather boots still adorned his feet, but the side was pulled open halfway down in a display of casual relaxation.

Several laptops crowded the table in front of him; some screens were dark, good only for dully reflecting the light; others were still alive, numerous displays with different purposes.

Matt sighed, his striped shirt expanding and withdrawing with his chest. Lightly chewing the end of the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, he set down his game for one moment to yank off his gloves, and tossed them across the room. One landed on the intended surface, a worn down wooden desk, and the other hung off the side before giving in and flopping onto the dusty floor.

Not caring, he picked his game back up off his lap and resumed, and music, beeps, hums, and other sound effects buzzed in the air.

Leaning over and shifting to lie on his neck, Matt pulled his feet up onto the couch, not caring about his boots dirtying the dark blue of the fabric, and his back tipped up against the arm of the furniture piece.

Somewhat lazily, he leaned over at the digital clock, neon green sticks forming the rigid figure of 3:46 AM.

He would have gone to bed a while ago, he figured. Although who knows, he might have been up now anyway. His sleeping pattern was never all that solid; he simply woke and slept when the mood struck him. However, since recently he had very little to do anyway, his sleeping habits had become even more erratic.

It was because of a text message that he was still purposely awake. The innocent thing was on the table amidst the computers, located near the edge for easy access. About two hours ago, he had received:

**STAY UP. COMING BACK.**

Not that he hadn't even bothered to look at the number; there was only one person it could have been.

Mello had been away for quite some time; having gotten caught up in the Mafia for the sake of his own goals, he had somewhat left Matt to his own devices. They maintained an apartment, something of a 'home', and stayed together by themselves while Mello plotted and Matt idly played his games and waited to be of service.

After leaving to take up residence with the crime syndicate, Mello had only instructed him to keep himself available, and to stay in the two bedroom apartment. Matt didn't care, and without inquiring, accepted the order. Reliably, Mello sent back money for the rent and plenty for everyday expenses. Somewhat excessive, the funds were likely meant for things such as food and electric bills and whatnot.

Matt wasn't about to confess to Mello that he used quite a bit of it on games. Not having much to do and having a simple passion, he squandered a heavy sum on consoles, games, online game subscriptions, and whatever other device to keep himself occupied. With the money Mello regularly sent, he didn't even need a job, and he was grateful he didn't have to bother. Someone else might have questioned under what means all this money came from, but someone like Mello affiliated with th Mafia had to make an impressive amount of money. Matt didn't care where it came from, because it did what it needed to do, and Mello obviously wasn't wasting his time there. Predictably, he had plans and goals. And if the Mafia was what Mello needed to achieve them, then...by all means.

Finally, Matt curled up on the couch. Spine curling and flexible legs pulling his knees to his chest, he reached forward with his free hand, and pulled off his boot, dropping it onto the floor beside him, and repeated this process with the other, before settling back comfortably on the cushions, now leaning flat on his back, knees bent and heels resting on the arm of the couch.

Disgruntled, Matt ran through his reasoning for the 32nd time. If Mello was coming back so unexpectedly, that meant something had gone wrong. His friend hadn't specified where the hideout was, but had explained it was about an hour's drive. Chances were Mello had access to a car or vehicle, so he should be arriving soon.

_Why, what could go wrong while being in the Mafia._ Matt thought bitterly to himself.

For once, he put down his game, and flexed his somewhat stiff fingers. Accustomed to the position of holding the handheld console, it took a minute or so to reassert proper function of his fingers. Lighting his cigarette, he took a long drag from the white paper-wrapped tube. He didn't think about what was going into his lungs, and he didn't much care.

Several minutes went by, and he enjoyed his break from video games, having already gotten halfway through that particular game, which he had only gotten yesterday. Small puffs of smoke emerged from his lips, and drifted noiselessly to the ceiling, small ghosts that gathered in the air. Staring up at them, an ominous feeling slowly drifted over him, and after one last, long inhale, he put it out in an ashtray on the floor by his foot, then bringing it up to set on the table. Several times before, Mello had either stepped in, or tripped on, the little tray, and after a flurry of curses directed at Matt, proceeded to either kick the thing across the room, or toss it out the window. His friend had looked up from the screen of his game long enough to silently witness the spectacle, ignore the nasty words attached to his name, stare at the angry Mello a moment in private amusement, and go back to his game.

Slightly tickled by the fond memories, a small smile crept at his lips. No, he probably should take care not to provoke anger from Mello. Who knows, after being in the Mafia for over half a year, he might even get violent with him.

With a scoff, he stood, feeling hunger poke at his stomach. Mello would never get violent with him.

All he could do right now was wait for his friend, and finish off that pizza in the fridge.

–End Chapter 1

**Ending Note:** I cut it a little shorter than I meant to. It occurred to me maybe I write too much per chapter. So it's a small experiment to see if more people will read all of it and..I dunno. Review?


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Want to hear something bizarre? I wrote the first part of this to Disney music...it shows though, since it's a little more lighthearted. How much does the music you listen to as you're writing affect it anyway?

The reviews made me happy. Thank you :3 I'm very grateful. So grateful, I wrote this chapter in an hour.

No...I didn't. It was already done. But I decided to post it prematurely _because_ of the reviews, and that's...almost as good. Isn't it? Because I'm halfway done with chapter 3...I'm very inspired lately.

Warning: Beware graphic details. Burns and injuries aren't very nice subjects.

**Chapter 2**

Matt emerged from the small kitchen back into the living room, trying to unsuccessfully chew through the dripping cheese from the end of the pizza slice secured between his fingers. His other hand held a plate underneath, to keep any grease from dripping on the floor. He wasn't sure which would piss Mello off more, falling on an ashtray or slipping in grease.

Sitting back down on the couch, knees comfortably spread from each other, his patience slowly ebbed away and finally he pulled a break in the cheese with his fingers, and chewed on it, despite that it slapped against his chin, which he wiped with the back of his hand.

How did he not notice how ravenous he was? Staring at the ceiling, he chewed thoughtfully, slowly, faithfully waiting for Mello's return. After a while, his self control slipped as well, and with alarming speed he devoured the rest of the slice, and thought of going back for another.

Finding himself at the fridge again, he selected a can of Coke, and examined the contents of the fridge. There was a safe supply of chocolate bars; for other food, yes, he was a little short at the moment. When one only has to be responsible for their own stomach, generally supervision suffers. It had, and he found only one slice left, along with more leftovers from a Chinese restaurant Matt had picked out to be his favorite nearby.

His brow knitted together, not nearly as worried as his expression would lead someone else to believe. Silently he mused; would Mello want food when he came back? Not that he had time to go shopping now.

Finding his wallet on the nearby kitchen table, an eggshell white that stood out against the olive green of the room's walls. There was plenty of money there still. Perhaps he should risk the chance of Mello coming back to an empty house, and search for an open market?

Again he dropped the dark leather wallet on the table, where it flopped dejectedly. No, he better be here, but he also shouldn't eat any of the food still there; just in case.

Making his way back to the living room yet again, he yanked the tab of the can open, and as it fizzled satisfactorily, he sat on that same damn couch.

Once again his PSP found its way back into his nimble hands. He played it for another while, occasionally taking a gulp or two from the cola. Freezing cold, that was the only way to drink it, even if Mello did complain it made the soda flat. Matt had simply told him,

"If you hate it that much, get some more for yourself and keep it somewhere else."

Although he had been somewhat disgruntled, Mello had half-thrown the door to the refrigerator closed, and said no more, his friend again amused.

Something outside the door thudded, and Matt's eyes snapped up to the entrance. His thumb clicked the "start" button, pausing the game, and waited. A few seconds later, another thud sounded, but closer.

It could easily be nothing, but Matt saved his game and discarded it carefully on the table nonetheless. Another thump penetrated the thick, locked door. He took out another cigarette and held it in the corner of his lips.

Matt stood now, his eyes glued to the door, and his hand drifted to his vest, where a gun lay concealed inside an inner pocket. Unless...

Forgetting the gun, he strode quickly to the door, fingers coordinated from endless hours on buttons and controllers, and flung the door open.

Crouched pathetically on the floor in front of him was the recognizable form of Mello, and Matt felt his lungs freeze, his whole body stiff. His friend didn't move for a moment; several jerks were a sad attempt to stand. Laying on his side, his legs curled near him, and he shuddered.

Finally moving, Matt crouched down so fast and hard his knee cracked on the floor tiles of the hallway and didn't notice.

"Mello?"

Blonde hair strewn wildly, and...bloody, Matt noticed. Without thinking, he reached forward with the intent to pick up Mello; being overly proud, he had to be in bad condition to allow himself to be seen like this.

But as he gripped Mello's shoulder and side, the former student yanked underneath his hands, and released a howl of pain, which Matt immediately stifled with his hand. Should anything gain attention, it'd be a scream of pain.

His mouth dry, Matt waited until his cry ended, and mentally slapped himself for doing something so thoughtless. Panting, Mello got frustrated with the cover on his mouth, and stubbornly bit down on Matt's hand in defiance, which immediately retreated.

"_Ow."_ Matt snapped, caressing his hand a moment. "You brat."

Mello struggled to stand, just managing with some time and effort. Perhaps, Matt thought as he stared in wonder at the sheer determination of Near's closest inferior, it was simply because he was now in the presence of someone else that he found such strength. Any other time, he would have admired such pride in his friend.

Despite Matt's efforts to aid him, Mello silently waved him away with a stubborn, bleeding hand, making his way into the apartment, his pride taking him as far as the couch before he collapsed on his side, facing the back of the couch.

Closing the door as he watched this spectacle, Matt walked to him now, kneeling beside the couch. "Mello, what the hell happened?"

No response, only labored breathing with the exhaustion from mind-bending efforts.

Silent again, Matt waiting, and instructed, hand carefully on Mello's arm, "Turn over. On your back."

Mello obeyed, and Matt stared, brushing the blonde hair away from his face. He only noticed now that some of it had been singed off, the tips blackened and the hair raggedly shorter in some places near his face.

He inspected with horror not manifested on his face the burned skin on Mello's face. Nearly half his face had been burned, the skin darkened, cracking. Blood spattered the horrible wound, and he could only barely even make out the outline of Mello's closed eye.

As he inspected further down, his eyes came over numerous cuts, bruises, more burns, slashes over his arms and torso.

"Holy shit, Mel." Matt half whispered, and a blue eye opened, daring him to continue, an ever. "What the hell happened?"

Thick quiet hung in the air, pierced only by Mello's harsh breaths. Faithfully, Matt stayed crouched by him, waiting.

"Get some medical supplies."

The order was simple, and Matt, feeling he wasn't going to get more at the moment, retreated to the bathroom, returning moments later with an armful of numerous provisions. The entire bundle was cradled against his chest, one of his hands pulling the laptops off the table and setting on the floor, to be replaced with the dramatic clattering plastic and paper boxes, bottles, and an impressive array of cotton swabs and gauze.

Unspokenly, he understood what was secretly asked of him. Gently, Matt's fingertips peeled off the remnants of Mello's shirt, with minimal wincing by his patient.

Once that was done, he left for the kitchen, coming back with a clean white towel, dampened with lukewarm water, and almost nervously, he softly dabbed at the blood, ignoring Mello's face as he did. He couldn't bring himself to look at the moment. A minute later, he was relieved to make out that the blood over exaggerated most of the injuries; shallow, most of them, only looking to have spattered more blood than they actually had.

Having cleaned off what he could, he decided to ignore the smaller cuts and bruises; nonthreatening, they could wait. Instead, his attention turned to Mello's face. His hand, clutching the bloodied towel, gripped even more tightly, and he left the room a third time, coming back with another clean one.

In truth, it was a stall; burns should have been treated immediately, but if Mello could wait an hour for treatment, he could wait another thirty seconds. His hand hovered over the damaged side of Mello's face, skin ruined and still a bloody mess. The skin was dark, burn from a deep red to a dense sepia, blotches of black and dark brown scattered randomly. Such an agonizing sight, Matt almost dropped the towel. How Mello kept a straight face, he didn't know.

"Does it...hurt?"

"No, it doesn't."

Whether sarcastic or not, whether or not he was trying to hide the pain, Matt wasn't sure.

"Mello..." He muttered, defeated, the cigarette dropping from his mouth; the end had been half-chewed off in concealed anxiety, and bits of the ingredients, unidentifiable flakes of copper and brown color, spilled out onto the floor. "I can't treat this...I don't know what to do for this..."

"Just do what you can." Mello's patience, given the circumstances, couldn't have been more threadbare. In pain, exhausted, probably humiliated, definitely in a fury, and not knowing how badly he was maimed; no, Matt would normally give in to whatever asked of him, especially when presented with the situation at hand. But something known as fear began to sting fiercely the back of his mind.

"No, Mel..." He shook his head, slowly working into a panic, his aloof nature being rudely subdued by what was probably the wave of realization climbing behind him. "We have to go to a hospital for something like this..."

"We _can't_ go to a hospital." Mello growled. "They'd ask questions I can't answer. Police would get involved, I'm in the _mafia_. I can't be _asked_ questions. Shut up and do what you _goddamn fucking can._"

Done with his vicious barking, Matt was about to protest again when a grimace of pain flickered across Mello's face, his azure eyes still defiantly vibrant. Ten seconds felt stretched to five minutes, a strangely long time. Spare drops of water from the towel dripped to Mello's bare chest, mingling with the blood it met.

"Alright."

**End Chapter 2**

**Ending Note:** Okay. All readers owe me. Because I wanted this to be somewhat accurate, I searched up burns. And I wasn't quite prepared for those images, but I have a renewed and deeper understanding and sympathy for burn victims; they must be very strong.

Fairly disturbing, and I couldn't bring myself to keep referring back to certain images to keep writing as graphically as I could, because...erm. It was graphic. So my own description is a little diluted.

And by the way, it also said that third degree burns, which is what probably what Mello got on at least his face, typically doesn't even hurt, but the edges do, so he was maybe half-lying when he said it didn't hurt. Even so, I'm sure he was in a lot of pain. Both of you, be strong!

Wanted to clear this up that I'm not writing a clear MelloxMatt story. I had been considering it, but decided ultimately against it. There's enough yaoi on FFN, and I'd like to explore the 'canon' friendship between them instead. If the story becomes popular enough, I'll consider writing a companion story to this one with clearer shonen-ai elements, but if not, why bother?

Yes, that was a roundabout way of begging for reviews, but I was sincere..


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Hm. Maybe it _will_ be longer than '2 or 3' chapters after all.

**Chapter 3**

Having cleaned the horrendous wound as best as he could, Matt took a quick glance at the time. Almost 5 in the morning.

Turning his attention back to the gauze he was somewhat clumsily covering Mello's face with, his hands' shaking gradually ceasing, he felt a drop of sweat slip down the side of his face. The friend still lying vulnerably on the couch had somewhat relaxed, though still wincing visibly at sore places and aching skin.

Although there had been protests, Matt had pinned the longer portions of Mello's blonde locks behind his ear to avoid getting stuck in either the wound or the bandages. Now he was silent, blue eyes still stubbornly open, thing of hate mixed with exhaustion, an open admittance to clearly wounded pride.

Gazing at his friend's eyes, Matt had the distinct feeling he wasn't so much as noticed at this point. Still burned, maimed, exhausted, and Mello was already back to thinking, his naturally sharp mind trudging through obstacles of physical torment.

Matt shook his head slightly, eyes back on the strip of gauze he was slicing with a pair of scissors.

"What?"

Only a touch surprised, Matt's eyes averted back to Mello's face, whose strong eyes were now set on him.

"What 'what'?"

Mello frowned with some difficulty, hindered by his injured face. He recognized both when Matt was serious and when he was playing. Right now he had the feeling Matt wasn't going to talk to him. But he had won little success this night, and any victory was worth the effort, even if it meant prying Matt's stubborn mouth open.

"What were you looking at me like that for?" Mello demanded.

"Looking at you?" Matt replied. "I was looking at your face."

Realizing that he had contradicted himself, he added at Mello's lifted eyebrow, "I meant the burn on your face."

"That's still looking at me." Mello snapped. "And then you shook your head. Have something to say to me, maybe?"

Somewhat irked, though it didn't show on his face, Matt was tempted to yank hard on the bandage he was now wrapping around a gash on Mello's arm. But he was less spiteful of that, and sensing his companion had suffered enough, he resisted and discarded the impulse.

"No, not particularly." Matt finally replied.

A prolonged silence slipped into the room, and Matt felt Mello's tough eyes on his face. He ignored it as he tended to lesser injuries and even the smaller cuts and bruises, applying ointment, antiseptic, using almost everything he had brought.

Predictably, Mello was now trying to figure out how to invade his mind. Inwardly, Matt couldn't help but sigh. So, so easy to see.

How selfish. Mello was frustrated at whatever had gone wrong earlier that night for him, and was now willing to violate his friend's private thoughts to sate some sense of pride. He wanted to win _something_, Matt was sure, and currently he was the only possible target.

Knowing well how Mello always aspired to prove himself, and many times in the past had Matt secretly ducked his head so Mello would come out taller. However, he wasn't sure how this would have affected their status' while at Whammy's House, and he didn't care about that. But Mello would be furious at the prospect that Matt might be his equal, perhaps even a smudge more talented at anything. Maybe even devastated. No, Matt would never dare confess.

Matt considered 'accidently' applying a large band aid the wrong way on a cut located on Mello's forearm, and having to painfully rip it off to 'reapply' a new one 'properly'. He even imagined himself singing gleefully while Mello hissed in pain, "You know it's worse when you drag it off slowly!" Once again his dismissed this thought, although it was tempting.

"So."

Matt resisted a groan. How _predicable._ Here it goes.

"What was it about?" Mello pressed again, tone still sharp. "Why'd you shake your head like that?"

For just a moment, Matt felt quite fed up, but refused to let on. It was a skill of his to mask his emotions. He hadn't quite mastered it like Near, who since childhood had even wondered if he _had_ any. Nonetheless, he simple answered, "Nothing. Let it go."

"I won't."

_Damn_ was Mello stubborn. "Let it _go_, Mel."

"No." Mello refused.

Things were quiet again for a while, Mello's eyes still remained on Matt's face, while the slightly younger man moved down to treat injuries on his legs.

Without a word, Matt's hands gripped both sides of a tear in the leather, and a loud rip, loud enough to crack through the air, sounded with what could almost have been an echo.

"_Hey!"_ Mello snapped. "What the hell are you _doing!?"_

"You have an injury here." Matt's index finger pointed at the gash on Mello's thigh, just above his knee.

"You didn't have to tear it." Mello grumbled.

"There's tears all over it." Matt replied, dabbing at the dried blood with a warm, wet cloth. "Give it up."

Mello didn't protest after that for a while as Matt worked.

"Hey," Matt joyfully announced. "Leather is easy to tear when there's a rip in it."

_Riiiiiiip._

"Stop that!" Mello barked.

"Weee..." Matt grinned and yanked apart the stitching on the outside of Mello's calf, where a sizeable bruise was located. How he knew it was there, Mello didn't know.

"Cut it out." Mello ordered again.

"Wow, lookit that." Matt examined the bruise. "I didn't know that was there."

Mello glowered. So he was just having immature fun at the expense of his clothes.

_Riiiiip._

"_Matt!"_

A grin pulled at Matt's lips, his teeth showing.

"Stop that already." Mello repeated, the patience he had recovered during the peaceful time quickly diminishing with Matt's childish endeavors.

"5 tears, 6 tears, 7 tears..." _Rip. Rip. Riiiiip._ "I wonder how many I can fit on what's left of your pants."

Reaching again, Matt's hand was smacked away by a wrapped hand, and Mello probably hadn't considered it was hurt before doing so, he was so careless in his anger. He bit back a complaint of pain.

"Get back to what you were doing."

Pausing, and only pouting a little, Matt finally complied, and returned attention to his task at hand.

Mello growled something incomprehensible under his breath, and Matt's auburn eyes caught him inspecting the hand he had smacked him with; blood had apparently seeped through the thin padding of the enormous band aid. A dark stain had appeared on the flesh-colored plastic.

Sighing, Matt took Mello's wrist gently.

_RIP._

Ignoring Mello's wail of pain, Matt pulled open a new pack of gauze, since apparently the wound was deeper than he had first thought. "It's better to just pull it off all at once."

"You _asshole!_"

Despite the curses he was spitefully spitting out at Matt, Mello did nothing while his hand was re-wrapped in a cotton pad and bandages.

All the time Matt was treating the injured fellow orphan, the time had ticked by. Eventually they both became silent, and by the time the electronic fanatic felt satisfied in cleaning and wrapping all of the wounds that demanded attention, he had been working at it for an hour. He gave Mello several painkillers, and finally he turned away from the other boy, sat on the floor, and leaned his back against the seat of the couch.

"_Fuck _do I need a smoke." He muttered, and pulled one out from the half-empty carton on the table. As he lit up, he felt eyes on the back of his head. Trying to ignore it, he decided he wasn't in the mood for Mello's games, and asked, "What is it?"

"So what was that about anyway, shaking your head at me like that?" A victory, any victory.

Matt sighed deeply, and threw his head back in annoyance, hair falling all over his face and spilling onto the dark blue couch Mello lay on. "Oh, for the love of _God..._"

It was the early hours of the day, and some faint sunlight was finally drifting into the apartment through the curtain-less, bare windows. Quiet settled over them again, and slowly Mello's eyes drifted closed, his exhaustion overtaking his anger.

Smoke drifted through the air and hung there, trapped by the ceiling. Matt chain smoked four or five cigarettes, and put them all out in the same ashtray, simply feeling he needed to relax, did they have any beer? Any alcohol at all?

Reluctant to stir, he finally got up, and slowly stumbled across the room, only now becoming aware of his own fatigue.

**Chapter 3 End**

**Ending Notes:** They're minors...how would they have any beer? Then again, if they can get cigarettes and rent an apartment, alcohol shouldn't be too much of a problem.

Sorry about the silliness. But after consulting volume 10, I concluded that Matt...just doesn't seem to care much. He doesn't take things very seriously, apparently, so after making sure Mello's life wasn't in danger, he probably felt he could lighten up a little, though I'm sure Mello didn't appreciate it.

Um. It might have seemed somewhat suggestive that Matt was 'ripping open Mello's pants', but I didn't mean it that way. He didn't rip anywhere...erm...explicit. Just on his legs and such. Evidently, Matt also is passive aggressive, with the ripping and band aids and all that. Well. It seems like him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** I forgot what color Matt's eyes are in the anime, or if they even showed. So I made them auburn :3 If this is inaccurate, my apologies.

**Chapter 4**

For most of the day, Mello slept deeply. In the hours he lay on the couch, Matt left and returned with proper groceries, somewhat wondering why he would bother, when he had been living off delivery and take out for months as most of his diet.

He had also found himself piling up the various clothes he had thrown about the living room; it was in a heap in a chair, draped over the desk, a pair of sneakers near the door. He gathered it in his arms, and threw it all in his room.

Sometime around four in the afternoon Mello finally stirred, his weary eyes opening, still heavy with sleep. Half-dazed and aware of the ache all over his body, he could just make out Matt's form, half-visible from behind the white refrigerator door. Barely audible to him, Matt grumbled as he heavily tossed things from the bags on the table onto the shelves more roughly than he probably should have.

Several moments longer he watched, then turned his eyes to the ceiling, at the cracked white paint. To the chips along the junction between the wall and ceiling. To a small black spider making its way across the surface, eventually disappearing behind a cabinet on the other side of the room.

Closing his eyes again, he took a deep sigh, conscious of how it pulled at his injuries. He lay there, still feeling exhausted, not knowing what time it was or even what day, and sometime later Matt's heavy footsteps crossing over into the living room, near him. There was a pause, and Mello distinctly heard the clicking of a lighter; another cigarette.

"Moron."

"...What was that?" Mello's eyes opened.

Innocently, Matt blinked. "Oh. You're awake."

Mello slowly sat up, wincing slightly. "What'd you call me?"

"Oh. That." Not in any hurry to answer, he took a long drag off his cigarette. "Moron, is all."

It only earned him a dark glower, under which he simply shrugged. "Maybe there's a little _idiot_ in there too."

If there was anyone who wasn't afraid of Mello's hardened glare, it was Matt, and if there was anyone who would take advantage of his being unable to fully move and therefore hindering efforts to physically express frustration, it was Matt too.

Not feeling in any danger at the precise moment, Matt wondered exactly how much of this his friend would remember when he recovered. Just enough could get him pretty badly hurt, couldn't it?

And yet he lingered there, and eventually put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table, still there from last night. Still under Mello's persistent and quite unpleasant glare, he retrieved his PSP, sat down at the end of the couch by Mello's feet, and started playing.

Eventually Mello seemed to dismiss these efforts of his; he couldn't do much in his current condition. And it took more than the average to intimidate Matt. He lay back on the couch, eyes finally off of his surrogate 'nurse'.

Silence seemed to be a natural thing to them, for at least the time being. There they stayed for many minutes, maybe so much as an hour. Drifting in and out of sleep, Mello finally closed his eyes securely and was beginning to sleep before he felt his nose poked.

Flinching, he tried to ignore it, but it came again, prodding the side of his nose. Growling slightly, he feebly tried to wave it away.

"Come on, Mel, don't make me stick my finger up your nose...again."

Mello's eyes opened again, cross. "'Again'?"

Matt grinned. "No, I never did that, but at least it got you up."

With circular motions his fingertips rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"

Consulting the clock across the room, Matt replied, "It's 5:60."

"Matt." Mello's tone was not one of the jesting, flat and irritable. "There's no such thing as '5:60'."

"So there isn't." Matt yawned. "It's 6 o' clock."

Another pause as his thoughts dwelled on this, and he finally asked, "Why did you wake me?"

Motioning to the pile of bandages and other supplies again present on the table, Matt didn't seem to feel the need to explain further. Mello stared at it for a moment, perhaps sleepiness and pain dulling his sharp mind, and he finally, reluctantly, sat up, secretly longing for more sleep.

They proceeded gradually, Matt's fingers nimble, resisting every time to painfully rip off an adhesive. It was slow work, as Matt tried to give as little pain as possible, but sadly not being able to do anything about alcohol on cuts or other ointments on gashes.

When this delicate work was done, Matt gathered up all the used bandages, not minding the dried blood as he left to the kitchen to throw them out. As he walked, he called back, "You should have seen the cashier's face when I went to go pay for all those things. She looked like she was afraid I almost killed someone."

Mello did not respond. Carefully, he lay back on the couch again. Staring up again at the ceiling, he vaguely wondered how long it had been since he had eaten anything. As he thought this, he felt something cold and hard pressed to his mouth.

Perplexed, he opened his mouth to protest when it was promptly shoved in his mouth, and he sat up, angry, before he recognized the familiar taste of chocolate on his lips. Blinking twice, slowly, he raised his hand to the sweet bar, and snapped a chunk off in his mouth. Chewing, he saw Matt smiling deviously at him from his seat on the table, a bottle of beer at one side and a cup of steaming ramen in his hands.

"I figured it was about that time." Slurping some of the noodles, Matt added, "But I'll get some real food soon."

Mello chewed on the hard chocolate, savoring it; when really was the last time had he had eaten? "I'm starving."

"I thought as much." Matt yawned. "I ordered pizza and Chinese food."

Raising an eyebrow, Mello asked, "Is that all you've been eating?"

"Pretty much." Laughing softly, he stood and drank the salty broth from his soup, and for fun, maybe on an impulse, savagely bit a large chunk off the Styrofoam container and spit it out at Mello.

Glowering again, Mello's teeth clamped onto the remainder of the bar and pulled the wrapping off, which he crumpled into a ball and threw at Matt's face.

"How mature." Matt pouted, leaning to retrieve the paper and foil missile and the piece of Styrofoam that had landed on Mello's leg. In his other hand he picked up his beer. He received no response as he left again for the kitchen, lingering after he disappeared behind the walls. After a while, the smell of cooking food drifted into the living room, at which Mello frowned, and he called, "Didn't you said you ordered food?"

"Eh?" Matt's head poked out of the entrance to the kitchen.

"Didn't you order food?" Mello repeated. His patience was very thin these days.

"Oh. I did say that, didn't I?" Matt grinned. He wasn't wearing his goggles today. "Actually, that was a lie. I'm cooking today."

"Why?"

"Why not?" Matt's face disappeared behind the wall, which blocked the kitchen. "But I'm not making it a habit. Cooking is a pain in the ass."

All Mello could do was wait. He glanced behind him, out the window 6 feet to the right, and saw that it was already dark. Looking back at the neon green numbers of the clock, reading 7:03. Already dark out. The entire day, he hadn't moved from that couch. From last night, in fact.

He sat up and cautiously pulled his legs off the couch. They felt stiff; pangs of ache and stings of pain briefly bombarded him before they stopped festering, and eventually ceased. Gently he placed his feet on the floor, though he still leaned behind him, resting on the back of the couch.

A while later Matt reappeared, and placed a plate of food in front of Mello along with a fork, and sat beside him with his own, half-flopping back against the couch. "You're welcome."

Mello took the plate in his hands, and frowned. "What is this?"

"I dunno." Matt grinned, chewing on the end of his fork. "I just cut up a bunch of stuff and threw it into a pot of boiling water. I put salt in there too, so it should taste good."

Mello was able to identify haphazardly cut, uneven pieces of carrots, potatoes, whole leaves of lettuce, along with hunks of meat that was possibly chicken. These were located within heaps of, "Are these ramen noodles?"

Matt laughed. "Yeah. Top Ramen...I just threw a pack or two of it in there. It'll taste fine."

Not bothering to respond, not sure what he'd even say to that, Mello gave in; not one person was known to be as picky with food when they hadn't eaten for a day, and not especially when they were injured and had been sleeping for hours on end.

So they ate quietly. As soon as Mello finished, the plate was taken from his hands, and Matt, without delay, vanished into the kitchen, from where the sound of the running sink soon floated. Mello's eyes were plastered to the entrance, every so often catching a glimpse of a hand or a shoulder, or his companion's back.

It was about now that Mello's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Matt had been somewhat off with him; he did what he needed to do and more. And yet, his manner was coarse, his words and actions capriciously shifting tone, and that was unlike him. Having been near inseparable from their time as young children at Wammy's House, now that he was well rested, fed, and free of constant searing pain, he was becoming aware of something different in his friend.

As he thought this, Matt reappeared, kicking off his sneakers and tossed another chocolate bar to Mello before he turned away and pulled his shirt over his head, walking towards the bathroom.

"Shower."

Matt disappeared down the unlit hallway, and Mello just make out the opening and closing of the door twelve feet from him. Small cracks of light pushed around the door, and Mello tore his eyes away, and found the remote. Flicking on the television across the room on a metal fold-out table, he searched for a news channel. Somewhat disinterested, he watched the first one he saw, feeling the need for a distraction.

The sound of the shower was surprisingly loud. Mello turned the volume up on the television, and then after a second thought, turned it down a little. Having the bathroom so close to the living room was sometimes a disadvantage.

**Chapter 4 End**

**Ending Notes:** Mello needs a shower more badly than Matt. But if I were in that condition, I wouldn't want to get up either. And if I were Matt, I'd be pissed to go through all that cleaning and bandaging just so he can take it all off to go shower an hour later.

Speaking of Matt, he's more mischievous than I thought. But I'm starting to really like him; he's developing very quickly as a character and is writing himself. Mello's being a little stubborn about me writing him :(

There's more possible innuendo here...because Matt sticks chocolate in Mello's mouth. It's not meant that way. It really isn't. Matt's just being a brat. A passive aggressive brat.

Matt's 'dinner' sounds something I'd do.

My notes are too long.


End file.
